


cause. effect.

by 8BitSkeleton



Series: discovery [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Come Shot, Explicit Consent, Groping, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Penetrative Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8BitSkeleton/pseuds/8BitSkeleton
Summary: It takes Seungmin an embarrassingly long time to find out that Minho’s thighs are sensitive to the touch.
Relationships: Kim Seungmin/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: discovery [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144661
Comments: 32
Kudos: 373





	cause. effect.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written because i, like seungmin here, desperately love minhos thighs. sue me.
> 
> shout out to adrian and bb, my two rocks whenever i write. love yall
> 
> this one goes out to 2min nation on twt. yall know who you are.

It takes Seungmin an embarrassingly long time to find out that Minho’s thighs are sensitive to the touch. In the past, when he’s brushed against them and been yelled at by the older man for it, he’s always chalked it up to personal space issues. Boundaries. But living with seven other boys doesn’t really afford them any personal space. Sometimes, things happen. Sometimes, he gets bumped into a couch by Jeongin trying to scoot through an overcrowded dressing room and, trying to steady himself, lands a hand on Minho’s thigh. It happens.

What _isn’t_ supposed to happen, though, is the way Minho jolts at the touch, making a noise that takes Seungmin a second to identify. _A… moan?_ He thinks. Cut off, muffled, but very distinct.

He's frozen where he's landed, half on the arm of the couch, right hand on Minho's thigh. He turns his wide eyes onto the older man, finds him already looking back. Minho's ears are getting redder by the second, his eyes as wide as Seungmin's.

The hand that's still on Minho's thigh doesn't move. He looks down at it, sees it gripping the shiny material of Minho's stage pants. It's so high up it's almost— almost in a place that makes Seungmin's mouth dry at the thought of. His fingers are curled into Minho's inner thigh, reaching so far down he can feel the warmth coming off him. Seungmin feels a rush of heat lance through him as he looks at his hand, feels Minho's muscles under it.

He can't help it. Can't help the reckless way he tightens his grip for a second. Just to see what happens. Just because he's already here for it.

The noise Minho lets out now is more well controlled. It could almost be an exhale, if Seungmin wasn't looking for it. Wasn't paying attention, wasn't close enough.

But it's the look that gives him away. The way Minho's brow furrows for a split second, lips parting so beautifully to let out his barely-there noise. It's confirmation that, _yeah_ , Minho just moaned at Seungmin's touch.

The thought burns through him, makes him take back his hand as if he's been holding it over an open flame. He leans back, as far away from Minho as the arm of the sofa allows him. They look at each other for another second, Minho's ears so red they're bright, shining beacons on the sides of his head. Seungmin can tell the older man is trying desperately to school his face into something more neutral, more like what Seungmin is used to seeing. It doesn't really work but Seungmin appreciates the effort anyway.

“What?”Minho finally, _finally_ speaks. He sounds strained. The word pushed out of him.

Seungmin lifts his eyebrows briefly. Incredulously. Leans back further. “Sorry,” he answers after a pause. “It’s, um. Nothing.”

Before Minho can say anything else, he stands, takes a step away. Minho's eyes slip off him, looking back into the sea of people mulling around the dressing room impassively, searching for something he likely won’t find.

Seungmin's eyes linger for a second longer, fixing his gaze on Minho’s lap. The older man’s hands have come down to it now, his fingers tangled in each other in a way Seungmin has never seen him do before, the action almost nervous.

Interesting.

He turns away after a second, willing the redness in his cheeks down.

+++

He can't stop thinking about it. The noise. The look. Minho's cherry red ears. The feeling of warmth under his palm, the way supple muscle gave under his touch.

The worst part is the curiosity. Seungmin's always been curious by nature, always feeling like he has to poke, has to prod, has to figure something out. When he puts his mind to something, he needs to understand it. Take it apart. Figure out how it all fits back together.

So, he's thinking about it. At its most basic, he wants to touch Minho again. He really wants to see what the older man will do if Seungmin's hand finds that spot again. Is it just that spot? Is it all over? He's so curious, aching to know what it all means.

He doesn't realize that this line of thought has had him thinking about Minho's thighs for two days in a row until he's standing in their shared room in the sharp mid-morning light. He stands there, staring at the curtain over Minho’s lower bunk, thinking about how his thighs would look in his sleep pants. Has he ever looked before, ever noticed? He has a vague idea, a faint memory of what it’s like. The simple awareness of the mundane, where some things don’t register when you spend day in and day out with them.

It isn’t rational to be thinking about this. Rationality is so dear to Seungmin, everything having a cause and effect, a push and a pull. He’s not sure why he has to be thinking about this in particular so much. He touched Minho in a place he wasn’t supposed to and that was wrong, but— he still wants to know the whys and the hows of it, despite how wrong it was.

Cause. Effect. If he touches Minho again on his leg, he’ll know what the cause is and what the effect is. Scientific method. Something about experiments floats in his brain, too muddled to put into words before his feet are moving of his own accord, fingers reaching for the curtain.

He pulls it open, meeting Minho’s half lidded eyes. He’s awake. Still in bed but awake, his phone in his hand, some muted video playing on the screen.

“Good morning,” Seungmin says for lack of a plan.

“Hello,” Minho answers back flatly. He furrows his brow. “Can I help you?”

Seungmin smiles lightly. _Can he help him?_ He keeps the tongue in cheek answer directly on the tip of his tongue and tucked into his cheek. Instead, he tilts his head, all rationality gone out the window with the first touch of Minho’s gaze.

“Nope,” he says. “Just wanted to say good morning.”

He takes his chance, then. Reaches out with an overly steady hand, landing it on the middle of Minho’s thigh and _squeezing_ lightly. A testing touch.

And oh, _oh_ , what a sweet sound it is to hear Minho’s breath punch out of him all at once. Surprised and fast, the end of it sounding almost like a whine.

A _whine_. He’s just made Minho whine.

He wonders briefly if this is what it feels like to be a god. Discards the thought immediately as too grandiose for such a mediocre setting.

Instead, he meets Minho’s eyes. He has the same dark look in them as he did that day in the dressing room. Tinged with warning. Darker than a night sky.

Seungmin can’t help his smile.

The moment his lips pull up at the corners, Minho’s eyes narrow. Pupils still dark, red slowly staining his ears, but the look is now distinctly shuttered. As if Seungmin flashing his teeth meant the same thing it does for predators: a sign of combat.

All this Seungmin processes quickly, tightening his grip on the muscle once more before letting go.

“Good morning,” he says again, voice as cheery as his smile.

He retreats before Minho can say anything else in reply, closing the curtain back up carefully.

He’ll treat himself today, he thinks. An iced americano with syrup.

+++

He doesn’t really have a plan here. He thinks maybe his plan can just be ‘find opportunities’ and that’s it. Something nags at him, though. Both times, he's touched Minho without permission, the second time just to fulfill some sort of sick desire in him.

But then again, Minho didn't tell him to stop. And he _knows_ he would. Minho isn’t quiet about things he dislikes—quite the opposite. He yells and screams his opinions loudly and without filter often, _especially_ about things like physical touch. Like what Seungmin’s been doing.

In fact, he’s told him to stop before, when the touches weren’t as pointed as this. As provocative as this.

Maybe, Seungmin thinks, it’s _because_ of how purposeful he’s been that Minho hasn’t told him off. Maybe he wants to see what Seungmin does, too.

It’s hard to know what to do in situations like this, though. Especially when, after practice, Chan offers dinner. Felix and Seungmin volunteer to go with him. A second later, Minho also slides up to them, also accepting the offer.

Seungmin watches Minho’s face as they walk to the restaurant a block away. He’s looking forward, face passive. Nothing to hint at anything, his expression unreadable.

It’s fairly normal from then on. They get there, get a table. Felix claims the seat next to Chan while Minho sits across from him, Seungmin to his left.

They order. Normal. They make small talk, scroll through their phones. Normal. Seungmin feels something digging into the side of his leg. Not normal.

He can’t help it when his expression drops into surprise. He glances down at the pressure, spies Minho’s knee pressing into his thigh.

A push back from the older man. A challenge.

Seungmin feels something dark and hot burn at the bottom of his stomach. The way Minho’s legs are spread open, touching Seungmin while he gives none of it away on his face.

And when Seungmin looks, there is _nothing_ on his face. He blankly scrolls through his phone, waiting for their food while Chan says something to Felix.

He takes a breath, hands itching to touch. No one’s noticed anything, which means he _could_. Seungmin could just reach out and grip Minho’s thigh under the table and no one would be the wiser.

Yet— he refrains.

He lets their touch linger, the warmth of Minho burning a hole in him. Neither of them pull away for another interminable moment.

Their food arrives a second later. Plates are being passed around and settled. Minho spares him a glance before he begins to straighten out, to pull back from Seungmin.

In an instant, Seungmin’s hand lands on Minho’s thigh. He’s distinctly laid it on the inside of the thigh, fingers almost touching the bottom, palm pressed to the soft muscle. Holds him in place, doesn’t let him get away.

Minho stops breathing, going rigid. Going still. His dark eyes cut to Seungmin. A beat passes before Seungmin presses on with his advantage and _squeezes_ , his fingers pressing into the clothed skin, feeling how the muscle moves under his grip.

Minho’s mouth parts, breathing out a shaky, shaky exhale. He can see the color starting to pink up his ears.

Cause. Effect.

Across the table, the sound of chewing, metal chopsticks clinking together. Then, Chan, mouth already full of food, asks, “What's wrong? Are you guys fighting again?”

Seungmin finds it hard to tear his gaze away from Minho but he does it anyway. Commends himself on it, actually. “Us? We wouldn't dream of it.”

His hand loosens up its grip and that seems to sober Minho up a little. But not by much. He still sounds strained when he adds, “It was a civil divorce. Thought you already knew that.”

Chan gives them a weird look and Felix doesn’t even spare them a glance, too busy tucking into his rice. It seems to be the end of it though, Chan also ignoring them in favor of stuffing his face again.

They trade another meaningful glance as Seungmin’s hand slips off Minho’s leg, the release lingering and slow. The older man sits up, ceasing all contact.

They tuck into their food. Normal.

They’re almost done with everything, scraping up scraps of rice and meat off the plates when Minho speaks up.

“You.” he says. It takes Seungmin a second to realize he’s talking to him. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Their day off. Tomorrow. Seungmin feels wary as he looks over, eyes narrowed. “I have guitar lessons. But then after—”

“You're coming to practice with me.” Minho’s tone leaves no room for refusal.

Seungmin still refuses. “I don't need to practice.”

“You do. You're coming to practice with me.”

There’s a tense second of silence which no one at the table breaks. Minho stares at Seungmin, challenging. Calling him on his bluff, conveying a message.

Seungmin breaks first, looking away from Minho. “... Okay. I’m coming to practice.”

He avoids Chan and Felix’s curious eyes and pretends to find the wood grain of the table suddenly very interesting.

When they get to their shared room, Hyunjin is already there, laying on his bed. He can’t decide if he should be thankful or disappointed by that fact. He’s curious as to what Minho would do if they were alone. _If_ he would do anything.

Instead, he settles for feeling his presence at his back as they both walk into the room together, getting ready to settle down for the night. They walk to their bunks in silence. Before Seungmin climbs the ladder up, Minho speaks.

“Tomorrow,” he says. It sounds like a threat. Sounds like a promise.

Seungmin turns to him, meets his eyes steadily.

“Tomorrow,” he confirms.

+++

When he gets to the practice rooms, guitar case on his back, the first thing he hears is music. It’s _their_ music, a song trickling through the gaps of the double doors faintly. He opens one, feels the bass in his chest, opens the second door, eyes landing on Minho’s form.

He’s wearing a ball cap, pulled low over his eyes, long sleeves, and the tightest pants Seungmin has seen on him in his downtime. They’re so tight, so perfectly fitted that Seungmin can see the way his muscles shift, the way he moves in fluid, graceful, uninterrupted motions.

He shuts the second door, standing at the entrance to the room, just watching Minho dance. During a turn, their eyes meet briefly. The look on Minho’s face startles him enough to look away, feeling like he’s here to be chastised— and he knows exactly what for.

He moves, turning his back to Minho, shrugging the guitar off and leaning it next to him on the dance room’s couch. He sits, fingers fiddling in his lap as he looks at the mirror, looks at Minho, looks at the ceiling, eyes flickering over every surface. A nervous gesture. Looking for something he likely won’t find.

The song fades out slowly, leaving them in the quiet. Minho’s breath is barely audible. He’s hard to wind, regardless of whatever he dances to.

He looks over at Seungmin, eyes locking him in place.

“You,” Minho starts. “Have been a pain in the ass lately.”

Seungmin can’t hold back his surprised laugh. “ _Lately_? Just lately?”

“You’re right, I misspoke.” Minho takes measured steps up to Seungmin, eyes not letting him go. “You’re always a pain in the ass. But, recently, you’ve stepped it up.”

There’s a moment of silence where Seungmin holds back his words, considering what Minho is saying. The same worries pop up, of touching Minho without his permission.

Despite Minho initiating their contact yesterday, Seungmin still balks. Eyes looking down, searching the ground before looking back up. Meeting Minho’s. “Do you want me to stop? With the… the whole….” He can’t even bring himself to say it. To acknowledge it.

“No.” Minho’s reply isn’t breezy or dismissive, it’s firm. A firm answer. A firm no.

Before Seungmin can think of a reply, Minho quickens his pace. He blinks and the older man is there now, in front of him, almost knocking their knees together.

“No, I don’t want it to stop.” There’s a pause, their eyes meeting briefly. Minho’s are shadowed by the ball cap but Seungmin doesn’t think he imagines just how dark they already are. “In fact—”

Minho moves, sliding a knee onto the couch, then the other. Seungmin holds his breath, Minho hovering above his lap. “I want you to do it again.”

The weight of Minho’s words settles into his mind just as the weight of Minho himself settles onto his lap. And it feels like he’s catching fire at the touch of toned thighs to his bonier ones, the warmth of Minho seeping into his skin addictingly.

Seungmin’s hands are drawn up to the back of the couch, by his own hips, careful not to touch any part of Minho as he straddles him. His breath is speeding up. He feels like nothing could have prepared him for this. The inevitable conclusion of what he started.

Minho searches out his eyes, Seungmin refusing to meet them for longer than a nervous second. The older man hums, as if considering. “I thought you wanted to feel me under your hands. Did you change your mind?”

It’s a fair question, Seungmin thinks. He started this but, while he didn’t plan for exactly this, he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of this exact scenario in the past few days. He takes a breath, recalibrating himself. Reminding himself that this is _Minho_ on his lap, not some high school crush of his. Not anyone he worried about impressing. Just Minho.

He meets Minho’s eyes. “No.” His hands slide onto Minho’s knees slowly, watching the older man’s lips part into a small smile.

The warmth of him is downright _sinful_. Even through the fabric, he can feel the contours of Minho’s legs, the curve of his thighs. He watches Minho's eyes go half-lidded as he slides his hands up. Midthigh and his mouth parts. Upper thigh and his exhale is that same soft moan from the other day.

Seungmin’s hands stop on the juncture of his hip bones, holding him still. He looks down, sees his hands there, feels the rush of the image coursing through him. He slides his hands back down, feeling every inch of Minho he can over the pants.

His voice is low, lower than he thinks it’s ever been as he asks, “Why—why do you like it so much?”

“Sensitive thighs,” Minho answers, voice wavering. “They—they’ve always been sensitive to the touch. I can even—” He cuts himself off, teeth almost clicking shut with the force.

Seungmin tightens his grip. “Can _what_ , hyung?”

Minho throws his head back, sucking a quick breath in. “Come. I can come from it.”

Seungmin’s moan surprises even him. He didn’t know he was even _into that_. “You can?”

“Yeah,” Minho looks back down, voice a low murmur. “Do you wanna try it?”

That’s—that’s a proposition. He knows that, right now, he has a lapful of Minho, so this next part should have been fairly obvious. It still takes him by surprise how his dick pulses lightly at the question, slowly filling out in his underwear.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he murmurs back, eyes searching Minho’s face. A thought occurs then, as he watches a sly smile bloom on the older man’s lips.

He lays a hand on Minho’s back, another on his ass. In one quick motion, he wipes the smile off Minho’s face, turning them to the side. Minho’s back hits the couch, eyes wide with surprise, while Seungmin smiles down at him, a self-satisfied curl of the lips. He leans back on his haunches, Minho’s legs open to accommodate him, and he realizes that Minho is hard. _Already_. It’s a dizzying realization, confirmation that the sensitive thigh talk wasn’t an exaggeration.

Seungmin slides his hands around Minho’s body to settle back on his waist. He feels like he needs to map out every inch of him now that he’s got a chance to. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get it again.

He doesn’t realize his eyes are still glued to the outline of Minho’s dick until the older man bucks his hips, shaking him out of his stupor.

“See anything you like?”

“Yeah,” Seungmin says, cuts his eyes up. He dislodged Minho’s hat when he flipped them so he can see his eyes clearly now. They’re dark and liquid, threatening to drown Seungmin if he stares too long. His hair’s disheveled, framing his face, strands sticking to his temples where the sweat from his dancing has kept them.

“Then do something about it. I don’t want to lay here all day.” It’s firm, almost whiny. The same tone he uses when something’s annoying him. It’s jarring to recognize it in this setting but also partly comforting to know that it’s still them. Still Minho and Seungmin, despite the thoughts he’s having. Despite the shift that’s happened. It’s still recognizable to him, in some ways.

That makes him want to figure out what else will be recognizable the further they go. What other glimmers of the Minho he knows will shine through. What new sides he could unlock.

His fingers find the waistband of Minho’s jeans. The other man’s hips shift lightly. He unbuttons them, forcing himself to steady his hands. Drags the zipper open, hears Minho’s slow exhale.

It’s a struggle to peel down the overly tight pants. Seungmin has to lean back and tug, pulling Minho down, too.

“Why—” He tugs. “Are these so—” Another tug. “So tight on you?”

Minho sighs, exasperated as he reaches down to help. “I thought they’d be hot.”

They struggle to get them past his knees. “Was it worth it?”

“They got me here, didn’t they?”

“It wasn’t the pants that made me say yes.” They get them down to his feet.

“Ah, well. Should’ve worn a skirt.”

It’s a joke. Seungmin knows it’s a joke. It still doesn’t help the way his eyes widen, movements pausing at the mental image it brings up. Minho laughs.

“Really, Seungminnie? That’s interesting.”

“Shut up,” Seungmin mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Just help me with these stupid pants.”

It takes them a second for Minho to kick off his shoes, finally getting the pants off. When Seungmin settles back between his thighs, he’s struck by how much skin is at his disposal now. The muscles look even better now when he can see their shape uninterrupted, the way the expanse of skin tucks neatly into the short, dark pair of underwear Minho wears. It’s such a beautiful sight, Seungmin’s mouth waters just looking at it.

He knows Minho is going to ask him again, goad him into touching him, so he doesn’t give him a chance to speak. His hands find Minho’s thighs again, sliding onto him slowly, feeling a jolt as he touches bare skin for the first time.

It makes Minho squirm, the way he touches him, fingers dragging over the sensitive skin.

But Seungmin is curious. Always has been, always will be. “Is there… any place more sensitive than another?”

Minho’s answer is breathless. “My— the inside of my thighs. They’re the most sensitive. If you want to—” Seungmin squeezes cutting off his words. He enjoys this, he thinks. Enjoys making Minho lose his train of thought, turn to putty in his hands.

He leans forward, seizing his advantage. “If I want to _what_ , hyung?”

He doesn’t expect Minho to meet his gaze steadily. “If you want to make me come, Seungminnie.”

He loses his advantage in a second, feels the heat flood through him. That seems to be exactly what Minho was after, if his smirk is anything to go by. Seungmin flounders a little, taken aback. Now it’s Minho’s turn to seize the advantage.

His voice is almost a purr as he asks, “Do you wanna do that to me, Seungmin-ah? You wanna make me come?”

He does but he’s not about to say it out loud. Instead, he pushes back trying to make up for his lost ground.

Seungmin leans down, shifts, coming face to face with Minho’s crotch. He looks up, catches how Minho’s chest heaves as he looks down at Seungmin and Seungmin honestly loves the view from down here, too. He can see the outline of Minho’s hard dick at eye level. He wants to touch it, see how it responds to him— his eyes continue up, taking in just how red Minho’s neck is, a light flush covering his face, eyebrows drawn up. His delicate mouth is parted as he breathes, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

There’s another second where he knows Minho’s about to whine before he whines. Seungmin can read him like a book and he doesn’t let him utter a word. His lips attach to the soft skin of his thighs, sucking in a harsh kiss.

It makes Minho squirm under him, his hips jumping up, a moan loosening from his throat. Seungmin brings his hands up to his hips, stopping his movements, and dives in again, sucking another kiss onto his other leg.

This is the filthiest thing he’s ever done, he thinks as he trails kisses around, his lips savoring the skin. Minho’s taste is mild, a pleasant saltiness and musk that Seungmin thinks he could get addicted to if he’s not careful. His kisses turn to licks and bites as Minho’s sounds get more and more desperate, his mouth opening and closing over whatever he can his lips on. He trails wet kisses up, making a mess of Minho’s reddening thighs, hands at his hips, holding him as still as he can. Minho puts up a fight though— every touch a reason to buck up, to moan.

His sounds make Seungmin a little too turned on, a little too tight in the pants. He feels his own spit making a mess of his face as he buries his face into the delicate skin of his leg, pushing the fabric of his underwear up for more access.

He almost loses himself in the motions, in making a mess of himself and Minho with his lips when he catches the heady smell of something muskier, something close. His eyes trace up to Minho’s cock again, the hardness of it so close it’s almost radiating heat at him. He gets the idea, wants to try and taste it, see if the smell matches—

Minho’s breathless voice stops him. He sounds so raw. Seungmin’s never heard him like this before. “Do you want to fuck them?”

Seungmin’s mouth goes dry at the question, train of thought reversing course. “F-fuck them?”

“My thighs.” Minho clarifies. “Do you want to fuck them?”

“I don’t— how do I—?”

“Here,” Minho’s voice is gentle, despite his exertion. He reaches a hand down, running it through Seungmin’s hair lightly. “Can you sit up?”

He does as asked in a daze, wondering what could be next. All he knows is he’s made a mess of Minho’s thigh, left them shiny with spit, skin reddening all over. He’ll probably bruise, too. He would kill and die to witness it.

A hand cups Seungmin’s cock through his pants, bringing him back down to the moment. “Pull them down a little? I’ll show you.”

The touch, even through two layers of clothing, has Seungmin’s brain short-circuiting. He unbuttons his pants, trying not to lose himself in Minho’s touch. He doesn’t make it easy. Minho squeezes his cock purposefully, teasing. Knowing the effect it has on him.

“Come on, Seungmin-ah. Take it off.”

Seungmin huffs a laugh, despite it all. He pushes his pants down, freeing his dick, and the way Minho’s eyes zero in on it remind Seungmin of predators. Something about his gaze speaks of hunger.

Nothing could prepare him for the way Minho grips him, firm and unforgiving. He moans as Minho strokes up slowly, feeling every inch of him, as if committing it to memory. Strokes back down. Lets him go. Before Seungmin can complain about it, Minho scoots away from him.

“Like this.” He brings his legs up, presenting his ass and the backs of his thighs to Seungmin enticingly. He presses his thighs together, tucking his forearms behind his knees, holding himself like that. Almost bent in half. Seungmin loses all reason in that moment, especially when Minho trails his fingers down, touching the barely-there gap of his thighs above his underwear. “Right here.”

Seungmin moans, feels his cock jump at the suggestion. A drop of precum beads on the head of his dick, anticipatory. He scoots forward, feels himself slide over Minho’s skin.

“Are you sure?” He asks, making absolutely sure that this is okay.

“Yes,” Minho sounds breathless. “Do it.”

At the words, Seungmin grips the base of his cock, leading it into the space between Minho’s thighs. The pressure punches the breath out of him, the way he can feel the soft skin accommodate around him. He can tell Minho has opened his legs slightly to let him pass because the second his hips hit Minho’s thighs, the older man _clenches_ , pressing into him from all sides. It makes him moan, makes Minho moan, their low sounds mingling together so beautifully, Seungmin’s lust-addled brain wonders if they’re harmonizing for a second.

"Move."

The word takes a second to sink into Seungmin's mind. His body acts before his brain catches up and he finds himself rolling his hips into the warmth of him. It feels so good, Seungmin almost loses his mind immediately. He can feel himself dripping precum into Minho’s skin, the slick of it mixing with the spit he put there.

Maybe _this_ is the filthiest thing he’s ever done. He hears the wet sound of his cock moving in the gap of Minho’s thighs, feels the head of his dick poking out the other side. It’s all so much so fast he’s almost dizzy with it. With Minho.

And Minho can’t stop moaning beneath him. His head is thrown back, mouth parted, neck a lovely blushing pink as he lets out the most delicious sounds at Seungmin’s movements. Minho moans like he’s never felt anything better than Seungmin pushing his way past the skin of his thighs, getting it even messier, making it even redder.

Seungmin moans brokenly as he feels the pleasure overtaking him as he studies Minho’s form. He’s beautiful like this, like Seungmin’s never seen before. He feels almost privileged to witness how the feeling of getting his thighs fucked makes him lose himself. He pants, hands gripping Minho’s thighs, pressing them together further, making them both moan again.

Then, Minho looks at him, his eyes sharp, despite the pleasure that’s clear on his face. Seungmin sends him a quizzical look, hips still moving, and Minho smirks.

 _Oh, no_.

It turns out to be a very _oh, no_ moment indeed. On his next thrust, Minho reaches down and covers the head of Seungmin’s cock with his hand, engulfing him in warmth. The action alone has Seungmin gasping but then Minho shifts his hips from side to side, his thighs moving along with him, the friction of it pushing the breath out of Seungmin so fast he whines, a high, desperate keening.

“Just like that, Seungminnie,” Minho sounds breathless. Seungmin _feels_ breathless. “So good. It’s so good, you’re— _ah_ —”

Seungmin looks down at the perfect moment, it seems. He watches as Minho’s brow furrows, his eyes closing, mouth opening in a drawn out moan. He drops his free hand to his cock, pressing down harshly, and that’s when it dawns on Seungmin that Minho’s coming from this. From _him_.

He doubles his efforts, pressing Minho’s legs together further, feeling his fingers dig into the skin, likely leaving more and more bruises as he goes.

He fucks Minho through it, pace unforgiving as he feels his own orgasm approach.

“H-hyung, I—” He lets Minho know. Minho’s hand retracts from the wet spot on his underwear, eyes focusing on Seungmin again.

“Come on,” Minho coaxes gently. “Come on, Seungminnie. Come on me.”

“Ah—”

He does as Minho asks, his cock jumping at the command and making a mess of Minho’s thighs, his underwear, half of his shirt. He comes so hard he feels lightheaded with it, feels pins and needles in his fingers and toes for a moment before he comes back down to Earth, breaths heavy.

Seungmin just breathes for a few long moments, listening to how the other man’s breaths sync up with his as they both come down from their highs. He loosens his grip on Minho’s thighs and Minho lets them fall open, body lax against the couch.

It’s now, after everything, that he feels laughter come to him. He laughs lightly, looking to the ceiling for a moment. He looks back down, tucks himself back into his underwear, and meets Minho’s eyes. They’re soft now, looking at him fondly. A rare sight, one he catches on accident sometimes, and he knows that, right now, his own face reflects the sentiment back at him.

They look at each for another moment before Minho pulls a face, shifting in discomfort. The dried cum all over him can’t be comfortable. A quickly drying glob drips off Minho’s thigh and lands on the cushions, a drop on the floor.

Seungmin shakes his head, disgusted with the sight, even though he created this mess. He looks around the practice room quickly, reality setting back in. “I can’t believe we did this here.”

Minho scoffs, moving to sit up. “Would you rather we did it at the dorm where everybody can hear?”

Seungmin meets Minho’s eyes steadily. Weighs his answer carefully before giving it. “Maybe.”

The older man smiles slyly, eyes shining, as if he's pleased by Seungmin's words.

“Next time,” Minho remarks offhandedly and Seungmin feels something strike in him at the words. Maybe it’s just a tongue in cheek joke. Or maybe, a deeper part of him wonders, a promise? He can’t think about it further, loses his train of thought as Minho leans into his space.

It’s a stilted movement, his approach. As if he’s thinking it over and over as he goes. Seungmin notes how his ears start to go from pink to red again, leaning in close and stopping in front of Seungmin’s face. His eyes glance down to Seungmin’s lips, move back up, narrow curiously.

“Can I?” He asks.

Seungmin thinks he knows what he’s talking about but he still isn’t one hundred percent sure until he says, “Yes.”

And just like that, Minho kisses him.

Despite all that they’ve done, the first touch of Minho’s lips on his still feels a little weird. It seems like the older man is on the same boat, his lips hesitant on Seungmin’s— but still slow, slightly parted, wet around the edges from where he’s licked them. They lean into each other, timid press after timid press, the kiss softening around the edges as they go. They’re new at this and it shows, their shyness shining through it all.

It’s still nice, Seungmin thinks. It’s a nice kiss. He barely has a baseline, doesn’t think high school dating really prepared him to be the best kisser, but he enjoys it. Hopes Minho enjoys it too.

They pull back, eyes avoiding each other now. Seungmin hopes his cheeks aren’t red but a quick glance at the dance mirror confirms that, yes, he is indeed blushing. The only solace is that he can see Minho’s blush, too, trailing down his ears onto his neck and down the collar of his shirt.

“I—” Minho says, breaking their silence. Seungmin’s eyes go to him, quick. Searching for him. Ready for his next words.

“Yeah?”

“Are you hungry?”

It takes him by surprise, the question. It’s such a mundane question, as if what they’ve done hasn’t changed anything.

“Are _you_?” He throws back easily.

Minho rolls his eyes, falling into their usual schtick easily. “Oh, joy. You’re back to being a brat.”

“That’s so mean, hyung. Really mean of you. You’re going to have to buy me extra dessert to make up for it.”

“Forget I asked.”

“No,” Seungmin’s eyes shine as he leans into Minho’s space. “You offered food, I heard you.”

Minho’s shout is commonplace by now. A sharp ‘yah!’ cutting through the room. Seungmin’s smile is anticipatory. He knows he’s about to win.

Sure enough, Minho tells him. “Hand me my pants, bratty puppy. I’ll get you _one_ dessert and that’s it.”

That still counts as a victory in Seungmin’s book. He hands the pants over wordlessly, already thinking of what comes next.

He’s sure whatever it is, it’ll be sweet enough to sink his teeth into.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [twt!](https://twitter.com/MNCHNLX/)  
> send me prompts on [cc!](https://curiouscat.qa/8BitSkeleton)  
> get a little risky on my [nsfw twt!](https://twitter.com/BNCHNSNG/)  
> 


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